Nine Month Countdown. Leah Ashton

the electric attraction between them to what he’d felt was the only logical conclusion...

      But that she didn’t normally have random sex with a practical stranger on a beach had been abundantly clear.

      So yes, it was his.

      With the basics covered, he dropped his head, gripping his skull with his hands.

      He swore harshly.

      That was about the sum of it.

      ‘Angus?’

      He kept his head down, but he nodded.

      ‘I know this is a shock. I know this is the wrong place to tell you. When I called I hadn’t planned this...but...’

      It didn’t matter. Who cared where she told him?

      His thoughts leapt all over the place, as if his brain was incapable of being still, or of grasping onto anything at all.

      He’d never felt like this.

      He’d been in combat many more times than once.

      He’d been in the most stressful situations that most people could imagine. Real stress. Real life-and-death stress, not running-late-for-work stress.

      And yet this had thrown him. This had sent his ability to think, and apparently to talk, skittering off the rails.

      ‘Um, the thing is, Angus, I have a plan.’

      His gaze shot up, linking with hers in almost desperation. ‘A plan?’

      Ivy nodded slowly. And then she seemed to realise what he was thinking.

      She looked down, studying her untouched champagne glass again.

      ‘No,’ she said, so softly he had to lean closer. ‘Not that.’ Her gaze darted back to his, and she looked at him steadfastly now. With that directness, that realness he’d liked so much in Bali. ‘I’m thirty-one, and I have money and every resource I could wish for at my disposal. In every possible way this is the last thing I want. But a termination isn’t an option for me.’

      She barely blinked as she studied him. Long, long moments passed.

      Angus cleared his throat. ‘I’m thirty-four with a career I love that takes me away from home for months at a time and could one day kill me. I don’t want this. I don’t want children.’ Ivy’s gaze wobbled a little now as Angus swallowed. ‘But for no reason I can fathom, I’m glad you’ve made that decision.’

      Now he glanced away. He didn’t know why he’d said that, or why he felt that way. The logical part of him—which was basically all of him—didn’t understand it.

      It made no sense. But it was the truth. His truth.

      When he looked back at Ivy she was again studying her champagne glass.

      ‘Well, it’s good we’re on the same page, then,’ she said, her tone now brisk and verging on businesslike. ‘So, here’s my actual plan.’ By the time she met his gaze again, she was all business. Ivy Molyneux of Molyneux Mining—not Ivy the girl from the beach. ‘I’ll get straight to the crux of it: I’d like us to get married.’

      Straight after the pregnancy news, Angus would’ve thought it would take a hell of a lot to shock him.

      That did it.

      ‘What?’

      She held up a hand. ‘Just hear me out,’ she said. ‘What I’m proposing is a business arrangement.’ A pause, and then a half-smile. ‘And, yes, marriage.’

      Ivy might find this funny, but Angus sure as hell didn’t.

      He remained stonily silent.

      ‘The term of the agreement would be twelve months from today,’ Ivy continued, clearly warming to her topic. ‘As soon as possible we would reveal our—until now—several months’ long secret relationship to family and friends, and, shortly after, our engagement. Then, of course, our—’ now she stumbled a little ‘—our, um, situation would mean that we’d bring our wedding forward. I thought that we could make that work in our favour. A Christmas Eve wedding would be perfect, I felt.’

      A Christmas Eve wedding would be perfect?

      Angus’s brain was still requiring most of its synapses to deal with his impending parenthood. But what little remained was functioning well enough to realise that this was completely and utterly nuts.

      ‘Is this a pregnancy hormone thing?’ he asked, quite seriously. ‘Can they send you loopy?’

      Ivy’s gaze hardened. ‘I can assure you I am not crazy.’

      More than anything, Angus wished he’d had time to order a drink. For want of another option, he gestured at Ivy’s champagne. It wasn’t as if she could have it, after all.

      She nodded impatiently, and then carried on with her outrageous proposal as he downed half the drink in one gulp.

      ‘After the wedding we’d need to continue the illusion that we’re a couple, but given the nature of your work that shouldn’t be too hard. My house is huge, so we could live quite separate lives when you are home. Not being seen in public together will help, anyway, for when we separate a few months after the baby is born.’

      She blinked when she said baby, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was true.

      ‘After the separation you’re free to do whatever you like, and then, as soon as legally allowable, we’ll divorce, and carry on with our lives.’

      ‘Except for the fact that we’re parents of a child we had together.’

      A reluctant nod. ‘Well, yes.’

      Angus took a second long swig to finish the champagne he’d barely tasted. He plonked the glass down with little care, and then leant forward, watching Ivy’s eyes widen.

      ‘Why?’ he asked.

      Ivy actually shrugged. ‘Does it matter? I can assure you that the remuneration you’ll receive for this will be a life-changing amount. Millions of dollars.’

      Pocket change to her.

      ‘And a house, too, if you like,’ she added, as if an afterthought.

      ‘Before tonight, Ivy, I never wanted children, and I never wanted to get married,’ he said. ‘Now I’m having a child, but, I can assure you, absolutely nothing has changed on the marriage front. I wouldn’t have picked you to be the old-fashioned sort, Ivy, but I’m not. Even with a diamond-encrusted solid-gold carrot.’

      Ivy shook her head, as if she couldn’t comprehend his rapid refusal. ‘I promise you that this will cause you minimal impact, I—’

      ‘It’s marriage, Ivy. Nothing minimal impact about that.’

      She gave a little huff of frustration. ‘Don’t think of it like that. Think of it as signing a contract, nothing more.’

      ‘Signing a contract of marriage, Ivy. And you still haven’t told me why.’

      Now that he had her glass, Ivy had transferred her fidgeting to her fingers—tangling and twining them together.

      Had she really thought he’d agree, just like that? An offer of a crazy amount of money and all sorted? Even if her proposal made no sense on any level?

      He studied her. Was she was so detached and separate from reality in her billionaire’s turret that she truly believed that money could buy her anything? It was his immediate and rather angry conclusion.

      He could feel every sinew in his body tense in frustration at the thought of the level of entitlement, of arrogance that would lead to such an assumption...

      But now as he looked at Ivy, it didn’t fit. He hadn’t seen it in her in Bali, and he still didn’t recognise it now.

      Sure, she was still some distance